Datebook
by patdes
Summary: The right person can add color to your life. Literally. For my friend, Amanda Nicole, on her birthday. All parallels are intended, as is the love I have for you that pushes me out of my comfort zone. Bakla, happy birthday.


Like many work-oriented, results-driven Japanese people, Katsuki Yuri religiously maintains a planner – datebook, organizer, agenda, or as they're more commonly known in Japan, a schedule book.

He uses a Hobonichi Techo. It's the same brand, the same type, as the schedule books from years gone by. He picked up his first one after a careful perusal of the selection available in the Saga LOFT branch during a day out to Hyogokita some Septembers ago, and has used the same ever since. It's a convenient A6 in size, literally handy and easily portable when needed, though it can often be found in its usual place near the corner of his desk. It has a nondescript pale yellow cover, whose plainness is only broken by a singular black pen sitting on top of it. (This pen, it may be worth noting, has refills and spares of the same in his desk drawer.)

Katsuki Yuri finds comfort in this consistency and constancy. On days when his anxiety was less than manageable, he turns to his schedule book, turning its pages to help him believe that more days, better days, are certain to come. Sometimes, he'd simply hold the small, slim volume in his hands, a physical, tangible reminder of his sense of agency and self-worth.

He looks forward to quiet Sunday nights for this very reason. For around half an hour or so, he sits at his desk and plans out his week. He could be anywhere in the world, wherever his life as a competitive figure skater might bring him, and Sunday in one timezone could be Monday in another, but he'll find a desk to temporarily declare as his own and write out his plans seven days in advance.

His writing style is can be described as practical, almost utilitarian, and, at the risk of sounding racist, very Japanese. Though his schedule book afforded him a full page per day, he was extremely economical with his words.

His small, neat penmanship worked well with the Hobonichi Techo's grid lines, and he allotted one carefully written character per box. He wrote only the barest essentials. There were never full sentences in his week to week life, just a series of phrases separated by colons, commas, and plus signs.

 **Sunday  
** Supermarket: Onsen Supply Restock + Dog Food

 **Monday  
** Quads, 4F + 4Lo  
Gym: Plyometrics + Off Ice Quads

 **Tuesday  
** Choreography, SP  
Gym: Shoulders + Abs

 **Wednesday  
** Choreography, SP

 **Thursday  
** Double Run-Through SP  
Gym: Chest + Back

 **Friday:  
** Double Run-Through LP  
Onsen: Physical Therapy + Meditation

 **Saturday  
** Free Day

And so on, and so forth, variations of which appearing across the weeks. Even his free days were ultimately planned. With nervousness in his nature, rest is something he has, on more than one occasion, completely forgotten to do.

When it came to birthdays, his treatment was a little different. He wrote the birthdays of those he held near and dear at the start of the year, in the monthly calendar spreads that precede the daily pages, social media reminders be damned: his mother, father, and sister, all the Nishigoris, Minako-sensei, Phichit Chulanont, Victor Nikiforov, and, though he violently objective at this physical manifestation of the any kind of close, personal association, Yuri Plisetsky. At the top of each calendar box, Katsuki Yuri wrote each name and soon-to-be-age beside a small drawing of a candle, the closest thing his schedule book had to a touch of whimsy.

He wrote many birthdays, but never his own. Not for anything overly sentimental, but according to the logic of one Katsuki Yuri, it simply didn't make any sense. He wouldn't forget his own birthday, so why bother writing it down in a place meant for remembering?

Victor Nikiforov, Yuri would later learn, apparently saw things a little differently.

This year, Yuri's birthday falls on a Wednesday. On that particular Wednesday, he had no particular plans. He had hoped to note of some things, though. Revisiting old choreography, edit new music, drop by the bank. On any other day, he would've done so already in the Sunday prior, but on that particular Wednesday, he simply didn't have the space.

What he did have was an explosion of color. There was an obnoxiously gigantic "25!" drawn on the upper-right corner of the page, mimicking the style of an equally gigantic "It's Your Day!" sticker placed diagonally from it. There were what appeared to be two entire sticker sheets on that single page alone, lucky cats and sakura flowers scattered with the most reckless of abandon alongside drawings of pork cutlet bowls and chopsticks, skating boots and musical notes, hearts and clouds, and what could only be appropriately described as "poodle doodles" with various expressions of delight.

On a strip of striped washi tape, a large [ 2017.11.29. ] was stamped in green ink and a serif font. Amused, Yuri recognized this as the rubber stamp from onsen's front desk, where it typically stayed for receipts and letters and other documents. More washi tape formed a border across the bottom of the page, as did decorative swirls in glitter ink.

The middle of the page was filled with a heartfelt message in large, looping letters. "Hello, 25-Year-Old Yuri! I love you!" Beneath it was a carefully copied but still near-illegible お誕生日おめでとうございます！！！, or "happy birthday" as given by Google Translate.

All this was inside a large speech bubble originating from a big-headed, two-dimensional rendition of Victor Nikiforov, done by Victor Nikiforov himself. There he was, with small, smiling eyes, large, heart-shaped mouth, and, in humorous self-deprecation, two spots on his forehead to indicate shine.

Small words and phrases of affection adorned the page where possible. Words and phrases like "special" and "wonderful" and "I believe in you!" and "have a great day!" and "wow, amazing!" in all the shades that came in the recently purchased pack of felt tip markers.

The discovery of this rogue page caught Yuri off guard, but once the dust of his realization settled, he couldn't help but laugh. It was such a Victor thing to do.

He ran fingers across the page, which now, puffed up and crumpled slightly under the weight of all the stickers and ink, refused to lay flat. Ink bled on the back of the previous page and stained some spots on the next, but he didn't mind at all.

In his mind's eye, he saw Victor at a nearby tourist hub, making his sticker selection of typical Japanese motifs from a rotating display stand. He saw Victor at a local bookstore, walking to the cashier with markers and glitter pens in hand. While in line, he probably saw a sticker sheet labeled at "Special Occasions" and got that for good measure, adding that three-pack roll of washi tape from the counter as a careless afterthought. Victor made his way to Yuri's room, knowing full well, thanks to Yuri's meticulously updated daily plans, that he was not home and would not be home for a few hours still. He borrowed the date stamp from the front desk, an inspired move, and set to work.

Yuri always knew that Victor brought color to his life. He just never thought it would manifest itself so literally.

Yuri shook his head and smiled as he pulled open his desk drawer in search of a Post-It. He still needed to put pen to paper somehow, after all. He jotted his to-do for the day in chronological order, ending his list with "Victor Nikiforov."


End file.
